


Walk a Broken Line

by Tabithian



Series: Set My Mind to Wandering [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim is having a blast on vacation. </p>
<p>The sights are amazing. The food is fantastic, and the people? </p>
<p>So friendly.</p>
<p>Five stars, would recommend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk a Broken Line

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaned up from a draft in my WiP folder based on [this post](http://tabithian.tumblr.com/post/42653646915/i-am-that-kind-of-tired-where-my-mind-wanders#permalink-notes).
> 
>  
> 
> (Also, Tim's parents are alive in this, because reasons, IDK.)

Tim's parents, it turns out, aren't the best people in the world.

They may have, at some point in the past, gotten involved in some shady deals, and then. Like you do, decided they didn't really need to pay for services rendered.

And now.

Now Tim is running from some people who are very interested in taking payment out on him, because _his parents_ and why did he ever listen to Dick? 

Because yes, going out to one of his father's digs to spend time with his parents sounded like a good idea, in theory, but these are _Tim's parents_.

Tim is like an afterthought with the way his father is so focused on the dig site, and his mother is terrorizing Drake Industries executives through the magic of video conferencing.

But, _hey_.

Tim is officially on vacation because that thing where he nearly died, is working on healing up and Dick just really wanted to get Tim out of Gotham for a bit.

It was easy enough to make up some excuse, leave his parents to the dig and their work and just.

Wander for a bit because _Europe_ , and Tim's never been without fighting to save the world or trying to keep someone from killing him, and really.

He should have known better. 

********

Tim's luck, it needs to be said, is the worst.

He's already hurting, had laughed and told his parents there was a car accident because really, it's mostly the truth. (There was a car, and some new meta who has issues with Bats and said car being thrown at Tim, so. Yes. Car accident.)

He can run, but for only so long, and these people are just _so determined_.

********

“You caused us a lot of trouble. Gave us quite the chase.”

Tim looks over at the thug holding him in place.

Gets a vicious little smile, before he wrenches Tim's shoulder back even further, and Tim.

“Do you know how many bones are in the human body?”

Tim looks up at the speaker. Some deeply unoriginal thug, paid to make Tim _hurt_ before he kills him to send a message to Tim's parents.

“I'm not that great when it comes to biology.”

The hired thug smiles, so pleasant, gestures at the thug holding Tim in place, and -

Oh, God, there goes another finger.

********

Tim is having a blast on vacation. 

The sights are amazing. The food is fantastic, and the people? 

So friendly.

Five stars, would recommend.

********

There's a lot of screaming happening outside the room Tim's being kept in.

Screaming and gunshots and this kind of low, threatening growl, indistinct words.

Tim looks around for things he could use as makeshift weapons

Not like that's going to do him much good, given the fact he's chained to a support pillar and can't quite reach the lock.

He presses up against the pillar, tries to scoot behind it as much as possible because screaming and gunfire typically do not equal good things, in Tim's admittedly limited experience.

********

A few moments after the screaming dies down (oh God, he's spent too much time around Dick), someone shoots the lock off the door to the room Tim's in and kicks it open.

Dramatic, if impractical because it's a terrible door and swings back at the kicker almost hitting him in the face.

“Goddammit,” he sighs, and pushes it back open, glaring around the room as he comes in.

Nearly misses Tim, head snapping back around when he realizes.

“Who the hell are you?” 

Tim thinks about it, he does.

But.

His parents and their terrible life choices and a group of people invested in making Tim hurt before they killed him. And now. The guy apparently behind all that screaming and gunfire.

“...Jeff,” Tim says.

And.

It's not a lie, really. His father told Tim they'd almost named him that before he was born. And when they saw him thought, _that is not the face of someone named Jeffrey, or even just Jeff, what were we thinking?_

The guy's eyes narrow like he knows Tim's lying, but.

“You look like shit.”

Well at least Tim's not the one covered in blood - 

Oh, wait.

“Thanks. You look equally bad.”

Tim's supposed to be smarter than this, really.

The guy snorts, looks Tim over.

“You want to stay here? I could leave you like this.”

Stay here chained up with all the (presumably) dead bodies until their friends show up to find out what happened?

Wow, no.

“I'd appreciate it if you didn't? I mean, so rude,” Tim says, quietly wonders what's wrong with him. 

The guy holsters his guns and walks over to Tim.

“You're kind of an idiot, aren't you, _Jeff_?”

Okay, he definitely knows Tim's lying about his name, and is also kind of a jerk, but.

“So I'm told.”

********

Tim doesn't know what the word for it is, when you have this. How do you say, visceral reaction to certain things, words, _names_?

“Kid?”

Tim closes his eyes, swallows hard.

“I'm sorry, I didn't catch that?”

They're on a motorcycle, Tim riding in front of his rescuer because it's not like he could ride behind and not fall off with the state he's in. He thinks he can be excused for not hearing correctly the first time because the headsets built into the helmets aren't the best quality, and - 

“I said my name's Jason,” and he sounds amused as he says it. “That going to be a problem, _Jeff_?”

“That's what I thought you said, and no,” Tim says. “It's not.”

Much.

Because Jason is.

He's so familiar to Tim in the oddest ways, ways Tim can't explain to himself.

********

Jason takes Tim to a little house in a quiet neighborhood, something like worry on his face when Tim wobbles getting off the bike.

“It's been a long couple of days?” 

“Idiot,” Jason mutters.

His hand is light on Tim's arm as he guides him to the front door, knocks, and then knocks again until a little old lady answers, glaring up at Jason.

Jason turns on the charm.

“Madeline.”

The little old lady rolls her eyes, looks Jason up and down.

“You don't look injured.”

She says it like an accusation, and Tim is fascinated.

“Not me this time,” Jason says, nudges Tim forward. “Small fry here got into a spot of trouble.”

They'd stopped to clean up a little after Jason rescued Tim, because the blood would have gotten them the wrong kind of attention

Madeline sniffs, eyes Tim.

“And I'm to believe none of it was your doing?”

Jason looks affronted, and Tim.

“Uh, no, this was all me,” Tim says, gives her a smile. “He helped me out.”

Madeline looks at him, eyes roving over Tim's face, dropping to his hands. 

_Sighs_.

“Why am I not surprised?” she asks, throwing her hands up. “Bring him inside, the neighbors are staring.”

********

There's a lot of pain, because Tim's fingers, and his ribs, and pretty much his everything, but.

Madeline is as careful as she can be, and professional about it. Doesn't sugar coat things and levels a glare at Tim when she tells him to take it slow, give himself time to heal. 

Jason is there handing her the supplies she asks for and keeping Tim distracted, and really, it's much better than having to do this on his own.

********

“You have people looking for you who aren't trying to kill you?” Jason asks.

Tim blinks, looks up.

“What?”

Jason looks at him oddly, gestures at Tim in all his injured glory.

“I'm going to take a wild guess and say those assholes weren't friends of yours, so.” Jason shrugs. “You have people here?”

Tim.

“My parents,” he says. “They're on a business trip.”

Jason's eyes narrow, like he hears this lie too.

“You going to call them, let them know you're still alive?”

“That would be the thing to do, wouldn't it.”

Because Tim finally recognizes Jason, knows who he is.

(Doesn't know how he's alive, but. People in their line of work just do things like this from time to time.)

Jason squints at him.

“I.” Tim sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I probably should.”

********

Tim looks out the window where Jason's sitting on the bike, muttering to himself and shooting Tim dark looks.

Tim shrugs, turns his back to the window and - 

_”Tim?”_

Tim breathes a little sigh of. 

Not relief, but something very close to it.

“Hey, Dick.”

There's a pause, quiet fumbling and Tim does some quick math, winces when he realizes what time it is in Gotham. 

“Sorry, I - “

_”Tim, is something wrong?”_

Tim looks down at his hand wrapped in bandages, frowns.

“I'm going to be over here longer than I planned, things came up.”

Dick's quiet for a long moment.

_“Do you need help?"_

Tim looks out the window where Jason is apparently trying to glare down a little scrap of a kitten that's hopped onto the bike's gas tank.

Feels his mouth twitch up into a smile.

“No, I'm good,” he says. “I just wanted you guys to know so you won't worry. Or, like, I don't know. Storm Europe looking for me?”

Dick sighs, and Tim can picture the look on his face, worry and exasperation and something like fondness.

Can hear the things he isn't asking, won't, because - 

_”Take care of yourself, Tim."_

“You too, Dick. Tell everyone I'm fine?”

Dick laughs. 

_”I will when you mean it.”_

Touché.

********

“Little fucker won't leave,” Jason says, when Tim comes out, kitten tucked in the crook of his elbow.

Tim leans in to get a good look at the kitten.

Pretty, long-haired tortoiseshell with striking green eyes and a cranky look to her face. 

“She looks just like you.”

Jason sighs, scratches the kitten's ears.

“You're a pain, you know that?”

Tim coos at the kitten who gives him the most unimpressed look Tim's ever seen, it's fantastic.

“What did your parents have to say?”

Tim shrugs, gives Jason a little smile.

“That I should enjoy this chance to sow my wild oats?”

Jason stares at him.

“What.”

And now Tim grins, scratches the kitten under her chin.

“It's summer break, they're...busy, and my return flight isn't for a week.”

Looks at Jason, who is watching him.

“Just how old are you?” he asks after moment, little flicker of something in his eyes

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Old enough.”

And, oh, the look on Jason's face.

“Christ.” Jason eyes Tim. “'Sow your wild oats?'”

Tim shrugs, and Jason mutters to himself, leans over to flick Tim's forehead.

“You're not going anywhere without us.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “That's not at all creepy, you realize.”

Jason makes a strangled noise in his throat and scoops the kitten up, and buries his face in her fur.

Mumbles something that sounds a lot like, _”Such a goddamned pain."_

********

There is no plan.

Just.

Tim, and Jason, and a cranky little kitten.

********

Turns out, Jason has issues when it comes to Batman and Robin, and Tim is.

Wow.

Awkward.

Tim is staring at the television Jason knocked off its stand, screen broken, sparking occasionally. Looks up at Jason who is pacing angrily, hands clenched into fists at his side and - 

“Jason?”

Jason stops, turns to look at Tim and there's - 

It's. 

The look on his face hurts to see and Tim feels something cold, very much like dread, spreading through him.

_Because._

“He fucking replaced me.”

Tim.

Jason laughs, tips his head back.

“Christ, why do I even care anymore? I mean, I've known for a while now, right? She fucking told me.”

Jason starts pacing again, and Tim.

Tim pulls his legs up to his chest and watches, doesn't know what to do, the kitten pressed up against him, eyes wide in the face of Jason's destructive anger.

(Scraps every bright idea he had about telling Bruce, the others, because _no_.)

********

Jason is watching him.

“You're from Gotham, right?” Jason asks. “That accent.”

Tim looks up because, well.

It is pretty distinct.

Jason tilts his head, little frown between his eyes, asks, “You're not going to ask?”

Tim sighs, pushes the kitten off his laptop keyboard.

“About?”

“What I said last night.”

The television's been cleaned up, nice little fine on their motel bill to go along with the cost to replace it, and disappointed looks from the woman who runs this place.

“Should I?”

It's actually a legitimate question.

Should he ask Jason, who as good as admitted to having been Robin? And if he does, should he point out the fact that, hey, Tim is the one who replaced him?

Because there's no possible way that could go wrong.

None at all.

Jason sighs, scrubs his hands over his face.

“Christ, this never should have happened.”

Tim doesn't ask what, is afraid to ask when Jason looks up at him because the look on his face - 

It's not good. There's nothing good about it, just questions that should never be asked because they're the kind that twist everything good up, turns everything upside down until you think what you're doing is right when it's the furthest thing from it.

“You're wrong,” Tim says, quiet, as he gathers the kitten up in his good hand. “Jason, you're wrong.”

Jason laughs, all wrong.

“What the hell would you know about it?”

********

A week comes and goes and Tim ends up canceling his return flight – flashes a grin at Jason and shrugs, brings up his wild oats again.

Jason makes a disgusted face and ignores Tim for the rest of the day and it's.

Tim doesn't know what they're doing, just. Wandering around Europe on Jason's bike with a cranky kitten like it's a thing normal people do. 

Tim doesn't want to - 

Jason was _dead_ , and it nearly broke Bruce and the others and now. Now he's alive and Tim doesn't want to just let him disappear the way he seems to be trying to, but Tim doesn't know what else he _can_ do.

********

There are rolling fields and ancient forests, long stretches of roads and insanely tight hairpin curves that Jason slings the bike around with ease, laughing like a madman.

Mountains reaching for the sky and lush valleys and over it all vast, open skies, littered with stars at night and brilliant clear blue during the day studded with clouds.

Bustling cities with incomprehensible road infrastructure and small towns, villages that move at their own pace, steady.

Tim takes pictures here and there, with a camera he picks up somewhere along the way and develops pictures in the bathroom of whatever place they're spending the night at the time. Sends a few back to Gotham along with letters, careful not to send the ones with Jason in them.

Wonders what Dick and the others think he's actually doing, and maybe, maybe, takes a little bit of mischievous delight from that.

They'll stop to visit people Jason knows every so often. People he's helped in some way, or more often, people who have helped him, mostly by patching him up after some...altercation or other.

It doesn't really paint a pretty picture of what Jason's been up to, the last few years. Raises more questions than it answers, really.

“Shut up,” Jason says, when he catches Tim looking at him.

Tim shrugs, lets Jason's friend test the range of movement in his fingers, check his ribs.

He doesn't miss the fond look on the man's face when Jason's trying to coax the kitten down from a high shelf, or the look he gives Tim.

Curious, grateful, and Tim.

He doesn't know what that means. 

What it means that Jason doesn't seem to mind Tim's company. What it means that he doesn't bother to ask what Tim did to get into the kind of trouble he was, or why Tim just didn't go back to his parents.

********

Jason keeps watching him, and Tim.

“What?”

Jason shakes his head, scowls down at the kitten who has grown a fair amount in the two weeks since Jason found her.

“Hold still you little punk,” he mutters, working at fitting her with a collar.

Bright red with a little bell and a simple little pet tag with the phone number for Tim's replacement phone because Jason claims not to have one of his own.

“You ever going to go home?”

Tim laughs, raises his camera and takes a picture of Jason and the little hell beast yowling her head off, wonders, _Are you?_

********

It's all.

It's just too _easy_ , this thing.

The two of them and the kitten and Jason's bike, and.

It's too easy.

********

And then, of course, because Tim's luck is the worst - 

“Christ, I knew there was something off about you, _Jeff_.”

Tim winces, tries to pull his head away from the gun placed against his temple, insurance against Jason trying anything, which. 

Yeah.

Jason knows now, or if he doesn't know, has a really good suspicion because they'd put up a decent fight until Tim took a hit from newly healed ribs, _messed up_.

Tim sighs, sags in his captor's hold and looks at Jason.

Thinks Jason's probably known for a while, because, again. He's anything but stupid.

Realizes, in some distant part of his mind that the only time Jason called him 'Jeff' or any variation thereof, was when he was mad at Tim, or mocking him, otherwise it was 'kid' or 'hey asshole' or 'you little shit'.

Jason glares at him, and that's when the kitten, little spitfire of a thing drops down on the goon holding Tim, ferocious snarls and growls and a bit of yowling as she claws and bites at his face.

And then there's a just a lot of screaming and Jason yelling at Tim for being such a goddamn idiot, what the hell, and the two of them fighting back to back against a bunch of goons who are absolutely fixated on using Tim as a message to his parents. 

Fun times all around, really.

********

Jason disappears on Tim, once everything's over.

Pulls a tried and true Bat trick and vanishes, leaving Tim to deal with the police, the kitten curled up in his arms.

********

_“What happened?”_

Dick is very close to frantic, when Tim manages to call. 

Watches recorded footage of the building everything went down in on television, knows Dick and the others have to have seen it by now.

“Everything is terrible,” Tim says, closes his eyes because he messed up. “I'll be home in a few days.”

_“Tim? Little brother?”_

Tim bites down on a laugh because at this point he knows it's going to come out just the slightest bit hysterical.

“A couple of days, Dick. Just. Give me a couple of days.”

He hangs up before Dick can say anything else, and wonders if he should have just told him, because.

Jason is _alive_.

(And Tim lost him, and they're probably never going to see him again, and oh, God. Tim messed up big time, didn't he.)

********

Tim goes to Madeline, does his best to ignore the look she's giving him and hands her an envelope with a note attached. 

“Could you give this to him, if you see him?”

Madeline takes the envelope from him and sighs, like _kids these days_ , and nods.

********

Tim should probably feel a little bit guilty about this, but.

There's no real harm.

Just a little money passing hands to get Spitfire through Customs and Pet Quarantine.

She's had all her shots, and maybe they're not all properly documented, but if Jason trusts his people to stitch him up after a fight, Tim will trust them to inoculate their – his – cat.

********

There are a lot of judgey faces and looks when Tim makes it back to Gotham, the manor, but.

“Oh my God, is that a cat?”

Tim frowns at Dick, looks up at Bruce who raises an eyebrow, and.

Right. 

_Dick_.

********

Tim gets away with half-truths and careful omissions, mainly because he suspects Bruce knows the majority of it.

Probably not who Tim's partner in crime was, because he's not trying to pick Tim's brain about everything, but.

Enough.

Dick just looks sad, and worried, and worried and sad because - 

“You didn't have that before.”

That, being a scar – one of many – Tim had picked up before Jason stumbled over him. Little jagged line on his neck, just so.

Tim just looks at him, because.

No, he didn't, but.

He didn't have a lot of scars _before_ , either. These ones, at least, will heal clean.

********

Tim runs into him on patrol. Big guy, leather jacket, and a red domino.

He's looking out over Gotham, this. This expression on his face that hurts to see a little, it's love and hate and _home_ and everything in between.

“Jason?”

Jason turns to look at him. Face doing this thing when he registers the Robin suit, Tim taking a half-step back.

“Madeline gave me the envelope,” Jason says.

Tim.

He'd called in favors for that, owes more than a few in exchange, but.

“Christ, how long were you following us?”

Because Steph is a good friend, and can be trusted. Had dug up some of the old photos Tim had taken when he was in his creepy stalker phase, as she calls it and had them express mailed to Tim.

Tim had taken his time, picking through them. Choosing just the right ones before he'd gone to Madeline. Pictures of Batman and Robin, things Jason probably hadn't, couldn't, see at the time. It was probably even harder for him to see now, so set on hating Bruce and the things he has to do for so many reasons, but.

“Long enough,” Tim says, doesn't think Jason's ready for the real answer.

Jason sighs, runs a hand over his face.

“You're such a goddamned pain.”

Tim smiles, crooked. “So I've been told.”

********

There's a new vigilante in town who vaguely matches Jason's height, build. He goes by Red Hood and he's prickly and touchy and loves to mess with Bruce and Dick and the others. 

Bruce is going a little crazy trying to figure out who he is. 

Keeps looking at Tim because the Red Hood's height, build happens to match the mystery man Tim was running around Europe with.

Tim has a countdown going on in the back of his head for when Bruce just doesn't give a damn anymore and just hauls Tim in for a nice little interrogation session, and Jason, the jerk is - 

“Stop teasing Spitfire.”

Jason is dangling one of the feather cat toys just out of Spitfire's reach, and she's getting that look on her face that means she's going to go straight to the source of her aggravation, which is Jason. 

Jason who's out of his armor and in jeans and a t-shirt and so much available area for Spitfire to claw and bite, was Jason not paying attention that one time?

“Oh, come on, what's the little punk going to do?”

Tim sighs, because why this.

“You know where the medical kit is,” Tim says, because this is obviously something Jason needs to learn the hard way.

Tim named her Spitfire for a _reason_.

**Author's Note:**

> *hands*


End file.
